Cats
Saving Scooter
While scrolling through Facebook a couple of nights ago, I saw a friend needed someone to come get a kitten that was hanging around their yard.
We have a stray kitten at our house that we need someone to come get before our dogs kill it…Anyone able to take care of a kitten?
The last thing I wanted was to go get that kitten. I confess, I scrolled past, hoping someone else would do it. Someone with fewer cats in their small cabin. And then my conscience reminded me that I don’t ever want to be the kind of person who walks away from an animal (or a person, for that matter) in need of help.
And, so, I replied, we set up a meeting place, and I went and got a kitten.
Only “kitten” was a bit of an exaggeration. Scooter is a kitten in the way that fourteen-year-old boys are children: technically, yes, but when people say they like children, they aren’t usually picturing a fourteen-year-old boy. Scooter is maybe five months old, give or take a month. “He might be feral” they told me as they stuffed him in the carrier I brought. They had caught him, but with a little difficulty.
There was no way I could bring a half-grown, unneutered male cat into my house. I have five cats in my 550-square-foot cabin, four of them males. Fat Zombie would beat the crap out of Scooter. Sweet Zombie would help him. And if the cat wasn’t even tame? Good Lord, what had I gotten myself into?
But at least nothing was going to eat him in my yard (so long as I kept Fat Zombie inside). My sister has big dogs, but they don’t run free — and they like cats (one of them LOVES cats with more enthusiasm than most cats appreciate). My plan was to put out food, let him go, and wish him well. I thought he’d take off running. But the little village I live in, with its surrounding fields and woodlands, isn’t a bad place for a feral cat to make a home.
When I opened the carrier, the cat crawled out, walking low to the ground. He was freaked out. I spoke to him. I pointed out the pile of food. He circled back. He didn’t quite get close enough for me to pet him, at first. But he found the food, and I talked to him as he ate.
And then he let me pet him. As soon as I did, he decided I was the love of his life. He clearly wasn’t feral. At some point, he had been around humans — it had just been a while, I’m guessing. But it all came rushing back to him with one scratch of the ears. He has been following me around the yard ever since. We have chickens and goats, which he finds a little scary. Mostly, he’s been hanging around my deck and my sister’s carport, going back and forth between the two.
I can’t keep Scooter. I love him dearly, as I love all cats, but this wouldn’t be a good home for him. My cats barely get along with each other — I can’t bring another cat into the mix, so he is going to live with my friend Alicia. She’s a farmer. He’ll be a good barn cat. A spoiled barn cat, because Alicia really loves her cats. She takes good care of them. He’ll have a good life.
